


The Problem With Post-Its

by besanii



Series: Starbucks AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Friendship, Gen, Reconciliation, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?” Grantaire asks flatly. He’s balancing a half-filled bussing tray on his hip, and looks unimpressed. “Didn’t your shift end, like, four hours ago?”</p><p>“Maybe…?” He almost drops his phone when it vibrates with a new message from Courfeyrac. <i>ur not even pissed abt the milk thing. jst tell him ur sry abt the shit u said</i>. He slips the phone back into his pocket. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”</p><p>In which dumb boys are dumb, and absolutely zero communication ever happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem With Post-Its

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prouvairing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Sere! I wrote Les Mis for you because you wanted it and it's your birthday and I love you <33333
> 
> There is approximately no plot or point to this. Just an excuse for dumb boys being dumb, and friendship shenanigans. Pre-E/R gen stuff more than anything. I apologise in advance if this lowers your IQ because of all the dumb.

_Ping._

Courfeyrac fishes his phone out of his pocket, jogging across the last stretch of road just as the signal starts flashing red.

_Where are you now?_

He grins.

_Outside the store. Just got here._

The reply is immediate.

_Stay there for sec. Don’t come in._

He replies with a string of question marks, but Marius is already making his way down the small access ramp with quick, hurried steps. He holds a finger to his lips when Courfeyrac opens his mouth, grabs him by the elbow, and leads him away from the door.

“What’s with all the secrecy?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Not a _secret_ ,” Marius says. He glances over his shoulder almost nervously. “Just not a good time to be in there right now.”

“Did something happen?” Marius chews on his bottom lip and doesn’t answer. “Oh. Enjolras and Grantaire are arguing again, aren’t they?”

Marius’ curls flop about as he nods, quick and jerky. There’s a bundled up apron tucked into his trouser pocket, and he’s twirling the ends of the string in his hand in a continuous, restless movement. A bad fight, then.

“So the supplier keeps messing up our milk orders right? We’ve been running out of whole milk every night this week. Anyway, Enjolras opened this morning and apparently he found four crates of milk at the back, just sitting there overnight. They’d gone off by the time he came in.” Courfeyrac winces. “They’ve been blowing hot and cold all shift — if they’re not yelling, they’re ignoring each other. It’s uh… _awkward_.”

“I can imagine,” Courfeyrac says. He claps Marius on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, they do this all the time.”

Combeferre, bless his soul, has planted himself between Enjolras on the bar, and Grantaire at the register. He tilts his chin up briefly when he spots Courfeyrac and Marius enter the store, lips quirking, and turns to Enjolras. Their conversation is short, masked by the sound of grinding coffee; Grantaire does not look over at them even once, his face set in a determinedly false customer service mask.

If he clenches his teeth any harder, Courfeyrac thinks, his jaw would probably shatter. He distracts himself greeting Combeferre with a kiss, trying to soothe away the tension between his brows.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

Combeferre shrugs. “They’ll get over it. It’s mostly just a misunderstanding; they both said some pretty stupid things, and now they’re too proud to apologise.”

“So, same old, same old.”

“Pretty much.” He wraps Courfeyrac in a brief, one-armed hug. “I finish at six — you staying around, or going home?”

“Heading home, I think. Just wanted to drop in and say hi, but I guess it’s not a good time.” Courfeyrac presses a kiss to Combeferre’s brow. “Try not to stress too much, okay? I’ll order pizza and we can mulch on the sofa all night.”

“Sounds good,” Combeferre replies with a smile.

 

 

—

 

 

Enjolras is finalising the food order for the next day when Grantaire stomps in, tearing at the strings of his apron. He wrestles it over his head and shoves it carelessly onto the nearest shelf without looking back. Enjolras fights the urge to turn around and snap at him, to sit him down and knock some sense into his head, and instead turns his attention back to the computer.

There’s a long stretch of silence that is slightly worrying; Enjolras doesn’t think he’s ever heard Grantaire go for this long without saying a word. But when he turns around to check, Grantaire is nowhere to be seen. He tells himself he’s not disappointed, and sends through the order.

The rest of two hours they have on shift together goes about the same. The only words they exchange are work related and terse, and they try to avoid even brushing each other when their paths cross. It’s childish, and Enjolras knows it, but he can’t seem to make himself _stop_. He says as much to Jehan.

“You know, you could just explain what happened,” Jehan says. He’s perched on one of the stools at the handoff bar, tucking into a meat pie with gusto. “Or, you know, say sorry. Grantaire’s a nice guy, he’ll get it.”

“It’s not that easy,” Enjolras grumbles, restocking the straws on the counter to avoid looking at Grantaire on the other end of the bar. “I said some really shitty things to him. He’s probably still pissed at me.”

“Well yeah, he is. _Of course_ he is. But that—” Jehan brandishes the piece of pie he’s holding for emphasis, “—doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. You both need to anyway, so you should start it off.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

The look Jehan gives him borders on withering. “Because you’re an adult, even if you act like you’re five. And because you’re the one I’m talking to, and not Grantaire.”

With one last, threatening wave of pastry, he returns to shredding his pie to pieces.

 

 

—

 

 

He decides to leave a note before he heads home.

There are post-its in the plastic drawer marked with his name, and he scrawls a hasty message with a sharpie. He sticks it in Grantaire’s drawer so that only the top of the yellow sheet is visible.

“You’re not seriously leaving a note.” Enjolras turns around, clutching his bag. Eponine is standing in the doorway with a bussing tray, looking displeased. “That’s what started this whole thing, remember?”

He does. But that’s not what he’s doing. “It just asks if we can talk.”

Eponine’s eyebrows threaten to disappear into her hairline. She makes her way toward the sink, brushing past Enjolras, and deposits the bussing tray on the counter.

“Why don’t you just _ask_ if you can talk,” she says. Enjolras doesn’t know whether or not he should answer that. “Like, seriously, how do you guys think communication works? Cutesy smiley faces on post-its and everything’s okay? Why don’t you draw him a picture while you’re at it?”

Enjolras bristles. “That’s not fair. How else am I going to get him to talk if he’s set on ignoring me? Why don’t you go and tell _him_ to knock it off?”

“Sheesh, you guys are made for each other.” She folds her arms and leans back against the edge of the sink, fixing Enjolras with a look of bemusement. “You think I haven’t done that already? Caught that idiot doing the same thing as you. Seems to think you’re trying to avoid talking to him. Hmm...gee, I wonder _why_?”

She cocks her head and widens her eyes, tapping her fingers against her lower lip with mock confusion. Enjolras stares at her blankly.

“Oh my god, I’m so done with you two,” she says, throwing her hands up with an exaggerated sigh. “Get out. I can feel my EQ dropping just being in the same room as you.”

“ _Hey_ —”

“ _Out_.”

 

 

—

 

 

He tries to enlist Combeferre’s help.

“—you don’t even have to _be_ there,” he says, leaning over the counter to tug on the strap of Combeferre’s apron. “Please, Combeferre, just tell him to meet you somewhere, and that’s it.”

Combeferre is supremely unamused. “No.”

“ _Please_.”

“ _No._ I’m not getting caught up in this, Enjolras. He’s _right there_.” They both look over to where Grantaire is wrestling a muffin into a pastry bag before the chocolate icing can melt over his hand. “Just go up to him and ask if you can talk. He’s not going to say no.”

“But what if he _does_?”

Combeferre walks away.

 

 

—

 

 

In the end, he decides to suck it up.

He waits until the after work rush ends and the guys still on shift are occupying themselves by cleaning and restocking the bar. He’s moved seats to the ones hidden underneath the staircase, out of sight of the bar, and is alternating between texting Courfeyrac for advice and trying to script out his apology on his phone. He doesn’t get very far with either — Courfeyrac’s replies primarily consist of ‘ _lolololololol_ ’, and ‘ _bless u, my child_ ’ — before a shadow falls directly over where he’s sitting, and someone’s clearing their throat pointedly.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asks flatly. He’s balancing a half-filled bussing tray on his hip, and looks unimpressed. “Didn’t your shift end, like, four hours ago?”

“Maybe…?” He almost drops his phone when it vibrates with a new message from Courfeyrac. _ur not even pissed abt the milk thing. jst tell him ur sry abt the shit u said_. He slips the phone back into his pocket. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

For a second, he’s afraid Grantaire might refuse. But then Grantaire checks his watch and sighs.

“Can it wait?” he asks. “I’ve just gotta finish this bus and then I’m on my half.”

“Yeah, of course,” Enjolras replies, relieved. “I’ll be here.”

Another sigh. “Great.”

 

 

—

 

 

Courfeyrac’s right. He’s not angry or annoyed about the milk thing, not really. Okay, so maybe he had been this morning, when he came into work at six in the morning, only to find 36 bottles of milk had gone off from sitting in the warm storeroom all night. And maybe he’d lost his temper when Grantaire sauntered in for his shift at midday, looking for all the world as if he’d not left the milk delivery unrefrigerated overnight. Unpleasant words had been exchanged, feelings were hurt, and suddenly it wasn’t about the milk order anymore.

He slumps back on the couch with a gusty sigh and throws an arm over his face.

“You’re being stupid,” Eponine says in a sing-song voice. She’s dangling over the edge of the bar counter, propped up on her forearms and rolling her eyes. Enjolras sincerely hopes they roll right out of her skull.

“Shut up.” He spots Grantaire walking towards him. “Oh shit.”

Eponine cackles. “Good luck, dumbass.”

“Bite me.”

“Nah, I’ll leave that to Grantaire.” And then she’s gone, disappeared back into whatever hellhole she’d come from, leaving Enjolras red-faced and spluttering.

He manages to pull himself together by the time Grantaire reaches his table, and gestures for him to sit down. Grantaire stares at his hands. Enjolras discovers a stain on the underside of the stair he’s itching to clean. They spend a moment sitting side-by-side in awkward silence.

Enjolras takes a deep breath. _Here goes._

“About this morning—” he starts, just as Grantaire says: “I should’ve—”

“You go first,” they say at the same time, and freeze. Grantaire coughs.

“I should’ve seen the note,” he says.

Enjolras shakes his head. “I should’ve told you in person, instead of writing a note.”

“Those damned post-its like to hide,” Grantaire agrees.

He knocks his knee playfully against Enjolras’ with a grin. Enjolras spots Eponine making kissy faces at him out of the corner of his eye and he feels his face heat. He coughs awkwardly.

“I was a dick,” he says. He really means it.

“That makes two of us,” Grantaire replies. His grin turns positively wicked. “And you know what they say about two dicks butting heads.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Eponine says loudly. They turn to see her practically falling off the edge of the bar in an attempt to listen in on their conversation. “I am _so done_ with you two.”

They look up to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac lurking around the corner behind Eponine, trying to look inconspicuous. Well, just Combeferre; as soon as he catches their eye, Courfeyrac breaks out into a wide grin and gives them two thumbs up over his head. Enjolras looks at them, then back at Grantaire, who is doing the same. They both burst into laughter.

Eponine shakes her head in disgust. “I'm surrounded by _idiots_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
